Heavy boots struck the marble floor. The sound echoed through the manor's corridors.
Count Casten Valtair moved with purpose. Dark hair with grey threading caught the lamplight as he passed. His jaw set tight. Grey eyes stormy with barely contained frustration.
Beside him, his aide struggled to keep pace. Clutching a ledger against his chest. Papers threatening to spill with each hurried step.
"Seventeen shipments delayed in the eastern district alone, my lord. And the western routes—"
"I can read numbers, Mark." Valtair's voice came clipped. Sharp. "What I want to know is why?"
"We're investigating, my lord. It appears—"
"It appears?" Valtair stopped. Turned. His eyes fixed on the aide with intensity that made the man flinch. "I don't pay you for appears. I pay you for answers."
"Y-yes, my lord. Of course." the aide swallowed hard. "The initial reports suggest... coordinated interference. Multiple small disruptions that—"
"Someone's sabotaging us."
